


Bitter Pill

by withswords



Category: Professional Wrestling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, this is like the definition of hurt/ comfort like damn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:24:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8325943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withswords/pseuds/withswords
Summary: Breeze takes a loss harder than usual.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote in the aftermath of the August 30 American Alpha match, because I love writing about narcissists having identity crises when their expectations of self suddenly don't match reality. Inspired by the way he sold the hell out of his shoulder getting wrenched around.
> 
> Also, I almost never write anything this short, and the next thing that I have on the backlog is much longer- this is just a drabble I wrote in a night. Hope y'all like.

Breeze knocked some more of his shit off the counter. The tiled walls and close quarters messed with the acoustics, like what always happened in bathrooms, and made the clattering sound tinny and extra loud.

“Fuck!”

The bathroom did the same thing to Breeze’s voice. Fandango leaned over to look sidelong through the wide open doorway; he zeroed in on a bottle of moisturizer on its side on the floor. Couldn’t help but note the brand and mentally remark on Breeze’s good taste. Some of the lotion had leaked out in the fall, leaving a thin, almond-scented squirt on the tile.

Focus. Breeze.

“Hey, we’re gonna get another chance,” he said, hoping it came out mellow and understanding. “I mean, we deserve–”

“Shut up.” Breeze was using his off-camera voice. Usually, it was nicer than this.

He looked at Breeze’s feet, bare because he’d lobbed his shoes across the room as soon as he’d come in, leaving a big scuff on the wall. “I’m not happy about it either, but you’re kinda freaking out. Do you… uh, want me to look at your shoulder?”

Fandango managed to pull his gaze up to Breeze’s shoulders, where he was hunched in on himself. His hair was all in his face. Tense and messed up, like he’d gotten into another fight between washing up after the match and coming back to the hotel. It was all eerie and uncanny and sort of made him sick in ways he only pretended to know words for. Since their partnership, he’d never gotten the feeling before now that if he tried to touch Breeze, it would start something bad.

“You have to get what happened tonight, right?” Breeze pushed. “I was being targeted. They were targeting me. Do you know how– messed up that is? They made me look like an idiot.”

He couldn’t think of anything good to say to that, but he tried anyway. “I don’t think you looked like an idiot, and I was there. Who cares what anyone else thinks?”

Turning the cold water on, Breeze bit back, “I know, but I feel like an idiot.”

He cupped his hands under the faucet and splashed his face, like he was already hungover from a bender he hadn’t gone on yet. His hair dripped. He tucked it behind his ear, and water ran down the back of his neck and left wet spots on his shirt.

“I thought I could be cool about it but I’m super not. And that just makes me feel even more stupid, like it’s my fault for caring.” He grabbed a towel off the counter, but hesitated before wiping his face. The hotel towels were rough, not to his standards. He used it anyway, but delicately. “I’m a professional loser. I get paid to lose. Even when I bust my ass like I did tonight, they knew I was the weaker link between the two of us.”

He whipped the towel across the room, suddenly disgusted with it. “Like, what am I even doing here?”

“Well, what are you gonna do? Quit?” Fandango moved out of Breeze’s line of sight, leaning against the wall and looking out at the hotel room. Lucky that they’d been roomed together, because Breeze would be even worse if he got caught like this by anyone else. “What about me?”

“Dango, don’t with that. You’re a good wrestler, you’ll be fine.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“So am I. This was a bad idea.”

Fandango paused. “What, like. Breezango was a bad idea?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Do you not want to be on a team with me?”

Breeze turned away from the mirror and towards him. Something rolled across the floor- must have kicked something he’d already knocked down. “I don’t want to not be on a team with you. You’re the only person I’ve gotten to spend time with who doesn’t suck.”

“So why would you want to leave?”

“Why would you want me to stay?”

“Cause you’re my dude, Breezy. You’re awesome, like a… tsunami. If you were the worst wrestler on Earth, you’d still be my dude. And you’re not even the worst.” Breeze had come out into the doorway, eyes heartbreaking wide. Fandango reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, and only remembered when Breeze winced that he’d been put through the wringer on that shoulder. “Even if your face got messed up and you were like, really ugly, you’d still be my dude.”

Breeze wasn’t physical. He couldn’t be sure whether or not Breeze hated how Fandango was always touching him. He’d never said anything about it, but he’d never searched for points of contact, for handholds, like Fandango did. Just in case, Fandango gave him ample time to back out before hugging him. Breeze let it happen, thank god. One of Breeze’s arms came up to give him a half-hug in return, which made him break out into a smile despite the fact that, as far as hugs go, it was kind of pathetic.

Turning his face so he could murmur directly into Breeze’s ear, he asked, “Do you want me to put an icy hot thing on your shoulder?”

Breeze nodded.

“I know the match tonight turned out shitty, and it’s messing with your head, but we are the best team. We just have to show it. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Breeze laughed a little and added his other arm to the hug. Point of contact.

His hair smelled like conditioner. His breath smelled like mouthwash.

Putting an icy hot patch on Breeze’s shoulder turned into giving him a full on back massage while he sprawled out and complained about the mattress. Back to his normal self, mostly. Fandango had tried to put his partner’s hair up to get it out of the way, but eventually Breeze had to do it himself when Fandango found himself baffled by a hair tie.

“They spare no expense on the talent, do they?” Breeze griped for probably the third time, before groaning when Fandango worked his thumb into a knot. A thought bowled him over.

“Oh my god- wait, wait.” He started laughing, keeling over with it. Breeze tried to cock his head and look up at him. Between giggles, Fandango continued, “Okay, so before I said you were awesome like a tsunami, right? I should have said you’re like a tornado. Get it, because like, Breeze? Tornado?”

Breeze put his face against the polyester blend comforter. He was shaking, but trying to keep himself from making that high, yelping laugh that came out of him when he was caught off guard. Fandango was still losing his mind over his own joke, and sat down on the edge of the bed. When Breeze sat up next to him, Fandango threw an arm companionably around his waist.

“Next time we win, I’m gonna pick you up and spin you around.”

Grinning back, Breeze asked, “Like a tornado?”

“Exactly like a tornado.”

“Because we’re gonna blow them away.”

Fandango put a hand to his head. “Oh my god, you’re so good at this.”

Breeze’s mouth tasted like Listerine and unflavored lip balm. Point of contact.


End file.
